


One Thousand Paper Cranes

by SongsofPsyche



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Death, Gen, Hope, Hurt/Comfort, Magic, Wishes, Young Ben Solo, paper cranes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-31
Updated: 2016-03-31
Packaged: 2018-05-30 08:26:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,089
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6416221
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SongsofPsyche/pseuds/SongsofPsyche
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A very young Ben Solo tries his best to save his friend by making one thousand wishes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	One Thousand Paper Cranes

**Author's Note:**

> Slightly AU
> 
> Ben is about 7 or 8 in this story.

# The old man was dying, and young Ben Solo didn’t want him to.

 

The man had always been his friend; always spoke to him as he walked to school, consoled him when his mother was away. Been there for when his parents worked late and no one was home.

 

Ben cried beside the hospital bed, as if wishing his tears could form a river to wash away the old man’s sickness. Despite the pain, the old man smiled with serenity that comes from seeing the end of a life well lived. The Ben didn’t understand. If the old man’s life had been so filled with kindness, why couldn’t he stay and continue spreading light and joy to others?

 

The old man stirred. One leathery had shifted across the snow-white sheets. The Ben reached for him. Stiff fingers, knobby as twigs, placed a gift into Ben’s cupped palm. It was a blue ribbon. The old man smiled at Ben one last time. Then he leaned back into the pillows and slipped into a deep sleep.

 

There was a legend that Ben had heard once. Long, long ago, the old man had read it to him from a book. If you folded one thousand origami cranes, then you would be granted a wish. Some said they could even give health or long life.

And so, with no other power in his hands, Ben Solo began to fold.

 

He folded six cranes the first day. Seven on the next, and then ten more before falling asleep. Day after day he continued, most cranes folded by the old man’ bedside where Ben would run to after school. At thirty-two cranes, Ben ran out of Origami paper. He asked his parents for more and watched as his mother smiled at him. His father brought his to the paper store, excited to see his son finding a hobby he loved. Together the three of them folded cranes together, and for just a moment Ben forgot about the everlasting battle of light and dark that seemed to go on in his soul everyday.

 

This continued for months. Each day Ben would fold. And each day the old man would still be breathing, shallow as a puddle. The summer rains came late that year. The first drops of a storm caught the child as they rushed down the street, arms shielding new cranes behind his sleeves.

 

Ben was running so fast to avoid the rain that he nearly bumped into someone—a man dressed all in brown, the Flight Academy badge poking out from under his raincoat read “Poe Dameron, pilot in training”. His curly brown hair,--despite the hat his was wearing—was damp from the deluge. The man—Poe—reached up to stop his hat from falling.

 

“Sorry” Ben said, and then scrambled away over the wet pavement.

 

“Hey it’s okay, slow---.” The man started, but then paused when something on the pavement caught his eye; a light blue paper crane, wings already soggy from soaking up droplets. It’s slender head bowed as the neck dissolved. It seemed pitiful for such a beautiful creation.

 

He stooped down to pick it up. On its side were a message written in now-bleeding marker; a name, hospital address and a room number.

 

“Hey!” Poe called, waving in the child’s direction. Ben turned, aw the crane in his hand and came trotting back.

 

“Thank you. Thank you!” he said profusely.

 

Poe held his umbrella over both of them as the Ben ran his hands over the drowned crane. The origami was ruined; they would have to make a new one. The from on the child’s face brought the Poe’s heart to sadness.

 

“Is this meant for somebody?” he asked. Ben nodded, shuffling back shyly. His fingers fiddled with the crane’s wings, folding them over and over.

 

“I see. You must be going through a tough time, then my condolences.” Ben wouldn’t meet his eyes. They stared angrily at the ground.

 

“But why did you write this address?” Poe asked, “Are they directions in case you get lost?”

 

“S’ not directions for _me,”_ Ben said “’s directions for _them._ I thought it might help them find him.” He shifted his grip and the triangular shapes of a dozen paper cranes peeked out over his shirtsleeves.

 

The sight of them drove all questions from Poe’s mind. “I see…” he whispered. He thought for a moment, then broke into a grin.

 

“In that case, I’ll help too.”

 

Ben took the pilot-in-training to the hospital room. Poe took off his hat, said hello to the sleeping form of the old man, and let the child teach him how to make paper cranes. He got better after the first two days.

 

Once someone asked Poe why he came to visit so often. Soon after that, Ben found himself collecting cranes from many sources. Patients in nearby beds sent over small piles on trays. Ben’s teach held a special arts and crafts day where his classmates folded origami and then collected all of the cranes into one bag. And the next time that the nurses left, Ben found two wrinkled paper cranes resting on a nearby table.

 

Ben tied the cranes together on his blue ribbon. He laughed with Poe for the first time in what felt like ages.

 

The old man died on May 8th at 4:54pm.

 

Ben finished folding the last paper crane at 4:57pm.

 

Ben stood by the rivers edge in the day after the funeral. His grief had not yet faded. The world still felt painful and sharp.

 

In his hands he held the thousand-crane string. On it he had written in shaky letters,

 

“I wish for a long life for my friend.”

 

Ben there the string into the water and turned away. He know it would probably dissolve and be eaten by fish. He didn’t care.

 

But he had seen the kindness of others now. Ben realized—Poe and everyone else who had tried to help him earned one small wish. Perhaps the kindness of his friend still lived on in the world. Forever eternal.

 

Right before Ben began to cry, a call ran through the air.

 

In a flash a crane, silver with age flew out in front of them from the direction of the river. It curved around to skim the water with its claw. A blue ribbon hung loosely from its leg.

 

Ben watched in wonder as the crane flew off, wings embracing the sky, light shining off each of its thousand paper-soft feathers.

**Author's Note:**

> I just wanted to remind you all about writing etiquette and what adequate feedback means. I totally will accept constructive criticism, everyone should, it's the only way we can become better writers but I will not accept hateful comments. Constructive criticism is defined as the process of offering valid and well-reasoned opinions about the work of others, usually involving both positive and negative comments, in a friendly manner rather than an oppositional one. The purpose of constructive criticism is to improve the outcome. It basically comes down to this: I can write whatever I want, and if you don't like it, that’s fine but please be respectful of my work.
> 
> We are all on here because we love to read and write fanfiction, and I fully support everyone who reads, writes and posts on here. Some write because they want to tell a story, others write as a way to cope with their past and to heal, and some write purely because they love it.
> 
> Please be respectful.
> 
> Thank you all for reading and understanding.
> 
> -SongsofPsyche


End file.
